


DCR Shorts

by AntipodeanPixie



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntipodeanPixie/pseuds/AntipodeanPixie
Summary: Deacon's observations of the Granny General.





	DCR Shorts

He nearly fell out of his chair at the grinding of machinery, immediately stubbing out his cigarette. Down on the hill below his nest, the vault was opening. He brought up his rifle, looking down the scope for his first glimpse of the vaultie. 

Short. Blue suit, numbers emblazoned across the back. Female. Long red hair. Squinting in the grey overcast light of an October day. She took a few wobbling steps forward and he lost his bead on her face. Not what he expected for a first party from a defunct vault. P.A.M. was limited in what she could predict by the information available to her, and right now they had very little. 

The vaultie stared at the Commonwealth, and then dropped to her knees. Shock, maybe. And then she threw her head back and roared. 

It was the only word he could think of to describe it, a primal sound of grief and rage. So much of the two twining in something that shouldn't be able to come out of a human throat. Then the vaultie was up, moving fast down into Sanctuary, looking like a demon on a mission. Deacon felt his entire scalp prickle. 

Wildcard indeed. 

\---

He followed her. Through Lexington. She picked up the Minutemen's dregs and started whipping them into shape. Sanctuary was a thriving farming town, and she started a marching line south and east, slowly collecting and building up settlements. Got a good run of defenses going, lines of communication with small ham radios. She had a long view of things, he could tell that much. And when she hit Diamond City he got his first up close view of her interacting with others. Stood up against Mayor McDonough. No fear there. Supported Piper. Noisy and nosey, gonna get herself killed one day but not a bad sort. Could do without her getting people paranoid about Synths. McDonough stormed off in a huff, Piper made a date for an interview. All to be expected. 

Also to be expected, the Sole Survivor (what people had started calling her after it came out that she was the last of a botched cryo test) didn't head right in but instead ambled around. Looking at things. Looking at people. She had a good memory for faces. Good enough that it made him a little nervous, hanging back and focusing on his cigarette even while his ears strained to hear her. 

"What's the deal with this article anyway? Must be fairly serious to leave somebody to a Super Mutant meat bag," she said, leaning her back against the column while her dog plopped himself down next to her. 

"It's all about Mayor McDonough being a Synth." Danny said, sighing as he picked at a loose thread on his armour. 

"So what's the issue with that?" Amry asked. Her voice was higher than Deacon expected from that initial roar, the only time he'd ever heard her personally. An accent, probably slight in her time. Sounded like some of the old, old broadcasts that still floated around from time to time. 

"The issue? If the Mayor's a Synth, that means the Institute's here and we're not safe!" Danny said, shocked that this stranger didn't seem to be connecting the dots. 

Amry shrugged, a charming insouciance. Her eyes flicked up. For a strange moment, he felt like she was staring through his shades directly at him. Warm brown eyes impossible to hide from. 

"Doesn't mean a thing. You could be an Institute nark without being a Synth. People will do anything for caps. And just because you're a Synth, doesn't mean you're Institute. Could be deserters." 

"That.... that doesn't make sense!" Danny protested. Amry pushed off the pillar, reaching down to scruff her dog briefly across the head. It panted happily, tongue lolling out. 

"Some old world wisdom for you, hun. It doesn't matter where you came from. It matters what you're doing." 

His internal eyebrows raised high at that while Danny muttered about it not mattering anyway. With an attitude like that, maybe they could bring her around as an asset. 

She was impressive. 

\--- 

She retook the Castle. On a Friday morning, bright and early, she and a handful of minutemen with Preston Garvey arrived at the old diner and laid plans. Deacon decided to show up. From a settlement further south, ready to do his bit for the cause, pipe pistol in hand. First thing the General did was pass out armour. Combat armour, well modded, good quality. A year's worth of caps to the average farmer. Somebody who cared about the ground troops then. 

Then she asked if anybody there had ever heard of a mirelurk queen. Deacon felt a twinge of misgivings that only got louder when her eyes lingered on him for a moment and a little smile quirked her lips. 

On the plus side, they were well prepared for when the Mirelurk Queen hauled on up out of the harbour at the destruction of the nests, everyone scattering indoors where she couldn't follow them while the General... 

The General stood tall and fearless, missile launcher on her shoulder and stalwart as she took down the queen. 

With Radio Freedom back up, Deacon vanished back into the distance to watch and wait. Kept his ears open and listened. What he heard? Very interesting. He headed down to the Memory Den, checked in with Amari. Turned out she'd teamed up with Nick Valentine of all people to ice Kellogg, a dangerous foe for the Railroad. Dug a memory module out of Kellogg's skull and pried the secret of Institute travel out of it. 

It was about this time that the Institute really sat up and took notice. Deacon had no doubt that the Institute was keeping an eye on her. A massive force of change like this in the Commonwealth made all the higher powers wary. The Brotherhood seemed to be treating her with cautious respect, a concept Deacon hadn't even realised they were familiar with. The Minutemen were growing, and with a far more disciplined outlook this time. Almost a real sort of government, that carefully skirted around established settlements like Goodneighbour, Diamond City and Bunker Hill. 

Most dangerous of all? She said Synths were ok. Started with Valentine. Stepped in on a couple of accusations and disagreements. And then she saved Jules. 

Jules was a self admitted runaway synth, held at gunpoint when he told his companions. Luckiest bastard out there that Amry walked up. She'd talked them down, slung an arm around him and walked him to the nearest settlement. Vanished into the settlement's office with him. Re-emerged a while later whistling to have a word with the settlement's spokesperson. Jules became a fixture, answering basic questions about the Institute. Didn't know much about plans, but could tell you all about how they kept their floors clean, he'd tell people with a strained smile. An old, old ghoul named Shen Yen took a shine to him, and people stopped bothering him. An open synth weeding crops and teaching half the settlement to read. 

Deacon dropped the warning from PAM with a twisting gut feeling. Amry came back just in time to have something to eat and wash her face before the courser showed up. 

Sleek and powerful, in the coat and shades, terrifying. The only thing that saved the man on watch was training as he ducked before it could shoot, jamming the siren lever. The shrieking wail burst over the settlement, Deacon watching in terror from a derelict car corpse. Shouting, movements, the courser turned to see Jules stumbling out of his cottage, clutching his pistol. Jules got lucky. 

Just as Shen Yen was reaching to pull Jules back and the courser was opening its mouth to say the recall code, Amry struck with the fury and might of a mother Deathclaw. The Courser was reinforced, as were all its ilk. It rolled backwards and then up into a crouch, laser weapon coming up. Right about then, Deacon registered two things. 

One, Amry was barely dressed, in bare feet, wearing underwear and a loose shirt. 

Two, all she had against a Courser was a combat knife. 

She lunged, and he could already tell her swing was going to come short- until it didn't. The knife jammed into the side of the Institute rifle, sparks flying as the weapon shorted and overheated in short order. She wasn't aiming for the Courser at all that time, she was aiming for the weapon. Disarmed it. She yanked the knife back and dropped into a crouch, while the Courser abandoned its weapon and went for its own combat knife. The two of them circled each other, Amry flicking up one hand. She said something to the surrounding, terrified settlers and the slightly less terrified pair of Minutemen attached to the settlement. 

Holy shit. She was going to duel a Courser. 

They clashed, disengaged, clashed again. The Courser was larger and heavier than her, with longer reach. She barreled in close, negating the reach, grappled with it. 

Realisation number 3: Amry wasn't the one in trouble. 

She was terrifying. 

\--- 

She showed up at HQ none the worse for wear, a bright smile and clever eyes. When Desdemona was understandably cautious, he stood up, moved in. Amry looked at him, Dog at her side. Again the uncanny feeling of being Seen. The Courser chip was a real talking point. 

"You killed a Courser?" 

"By herself, Des. She dueled it, right in the middle of a settlement." 

Amry shrugged, one shoulder coming up and dropping down. The same shrug when she'd talked to Danny. 

"Fucker was after one of mine. Couldn't let them drag Jules back after he'd been so brave." 

She got him alone after that. Ambled up to him and shot him a pair of fingerguns. 

"Hey Mr. Diamond City Drifter Who Does Trade Things when he's not in a Memory Lounger! Did you get enough Mirelurk Queen?" she asked, and he nearly choked on his cigarette. 

"Your voice is pretty distinctive," Amry told him, casually leaning against the wall next to him. "So, we're gonna go smash a place, right?" 

\--- 

"Smash a place." He muttered, crouching by one of the upturned desks as Amry vaulted it and tackled one of the synths. "Should have known when you said that that this wouldn't be quiet." 

Amry pistol whipped one of the synths right in the skull, dropping it in a shower of sparks while a laser left a massive scorch mark in her leather jerkin. Deacon popped his head up long enough to get the Synth responsible with two shots while Amry spun and drew the sword he'd seen her carrying, cleaving the third Synth right down the centre. 

"Don't worry, I'm the big shiny bait. You can be as sneaky as you like, long as you don't shoot me by accident." 

"What about shooting you on purpose?" 

"You'd better have a stimpack and some chocolates as apology," she told him, grin a little feral. 

Following her as an actual companion was exhilarating, a bizarre mixture of terrifying and soothing. 

\--- 

When she picked her callsign, he had to try not to laugh. 

"Granny." She said, looking thoughtful. "Since I'm older than almost everyone else. I can be Granny." 

He tried lying to her. Told her he was a synth. She looked at him, tilted her head. "Bullshit. You're not angry enough, or scared enough." He handed her the code anyway. She looked him dead in the sunglasses as she shoved the scrap of paper in her mouth and chewed.

He tried again, telling her he'd founded it. "Nah bro. Your code name is Deacon. That's a layman member of a church. If you were boss you would have been Bishop." 

She had a knack for seeing the truth. Took her two minutes to realise something at Covenant was even screwier than it looked, ferreted out hidden stashes, hunted down secrets. That made him really uneasy. She was a truth hound. Not brilliant like, say, Tinker Tom or Doctor Carrington. But a kind of sly intelligence, an animal cunning. Deception didn't work well with her, especially not words, because she didn't need him to tell her to look at actions, not words. 

When she smiled at him, he froze inside. Couldn't take it. That warm open gaze that seemed to tell him 'things will be alright'. When she gentled runaway Synths, easily rubbed shoulders with ghouls, adopted mutts she found out in the wastes. She had a way with people. Invited trust and truth and safety. He didn't deserve those things. 

The burning guilt built. Clawing at his throat. Hauling down his gut. Finally. It spilled out. He told her the whole sorry story. Barbara and the UP Deathclaws and how the Railroad found him, blood still under his nails and grief choking his throat. 

He stood trembling like a kicked dog, eyes closed behind his glasses. He'd seen what she could do. Carrington theorized she was having a favourable mutation. It was the only way to really explain "ripped off a radscorpion's tail so it wouldn't sting Deacon." He knew what she did to those who hurt her, hurt people she cared about. After what she found out on her first trip into the Institute... he'd lynched people suspected of being synths, synths she considered her grandchildren by extension, and any minute now she was going to swing and he'd never see it coming, a faster cleaner end than he really deserved. 

"Deacon." Her voice was... kind. How was it still so kind? A small, calloused hand curled around his head. "Ok" 

"What do you mean ok?" He asked, voice ragged and raw, eyes still squinched shut. 

"I mean, OK." Another hand came up, stroked lightly against his cheekbones. "Come here." 

Eyes still closed, he followed when she sat down on the ground. The hand at his nape pulled gently. Forward, forward, any moment now he was going to fall into her and for a sudden horrid moment he thought she might be going to kiss him. Instead her spare hand came up and lifted his shades up onto his crown just before she pressed his face into her shoulder. To his horror, he was crying. 

"Deacon, you did terrible things. You're right, sort of." He found himself falling sideways, ribs cradled by her legs and nowhere to put his arms but around her waist. A brief shuffle, and he peeked past where his own cheek smooshed into faded fabric. She'd laid his shades out next to Deliverer, an unspoken gesture of protection. If anything stumbled on them in the dead cave of an old boxing gym, she had things under control. Her hand returned to him, one arm curled around his shoulders, the other wrapped around his head. 

"And you are also everything right with the Commonwealth." She could feel him tense at that, the minute shake of his head. "I'm serious. You were awful. You killed people for shitty reasons. Not much better than a Raider. But you came round. You were probably what, in your twenties? And you strike me as being mid 40's or so at the least. That's a good 20 years of atonement. Two decades of trying to make up for the shit you pulled." She was rocking him ever so gently, and he'd almost feel shame about it. Like he was either her child or one of her lovers. But god it was comforting. Granny. 

A soft inhale, exhale, his head moving slightly with her chest. A thumb stroking just behind his ear. "The way I see it Deacon? You were punished enough by losing Barbara. And you've done your atonement killing the Deathclaws. Nothing's ever going to make those people alive again. But I think you've got a good start on being a better person." 

She was a goddamn saint sent to save the Commonwealth and all its sinning bastards like him from themselves.


End file.
